Verena's Whistle: Varangian Descendants Book I

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“Your Great Great Aunt Irene, who was the stratego, or commander, of the scout party decided that they needed to leave the area of the blast site immediately. They were not prepared to answer questions if anyone came to investigate. Aunt Irene remembered in the old stories that their ancestors did not have magic and were likely to react to it with superstition and distrust. They burned the bauk’s body and fled. You know the rest of the story.”
I stared at Grandpa Basil. The doorbell rang.

Chapter 2
The doorbell rang again. I started and got to my feet. Grandpa Basil waved his illusion away and gestured at Mom. “That’s them now.”
I heard the front door open and the unmistakable sounds of Aunt Sophia and Julian arguing. Julian’s muttered, “You know I have to…” echoed in the entry and then Uncle David’s deep voice cut through, “Get moving! It’s cold out here.”
I walked into the living room and saw a mass of people stripping off hats, gloves, and coats, and stomping snow off boots in the arctic entry. There was Aunt Sophia and my cousin Julian, Uncle Constantine, Uncle David, Theo, my great aunts Helen and Ariadne, and there, in the back wrestling with his scarf, was Uncle Alex. He looked up just then and met my eyes, his wrinkled face breaking into a smile.
“I’m here!” he called. Everyone stepped out of the way and he shuffled toward me with his arms open. He held me close and then kissed my forehead. “My Verena. Such a pretty girl. Why haven’t you called me lately?” His thin arms guided me to the couch and we sat closely together. “Zoe,” he called out to my mom. “Some cinnamon tea, please, for me and my great grandniece.”
I laughed. “I’ll get it, Uncle Alex,” I said and headed back to the kitchen. There, I helped Mom put together a pot of cinnamon tea while Dad got another pot of coffee going and Grandpa Basil sliced some black bread to put on a tray with butter and cheese. I heard voices raise and lower from the living room and then grow silent as the three of us carried everything into the room. Cups and plates were served and then all eyes turned expectantly to Uncle Alex.
Enjoying the attention, he made a show of patting his lips dry and putting down his tea. “I am 128 years old. I have lived through several lifetimes. I know that you,” he pointed in turn to me, Julian, and Theo, “have just learned some new information about one of those lifetimes.” The three of us nodded together like puppets on a string.
“We, as a family, did not keep this information from you with the intention that you would never know your history. The tradition has been to share the true story when a young person begins to think of settling down, finding a partner, and starting their own family. For obvious reasons, it’s important that our life partners understand fully what they are getting into with this clan: the magic and also the secrets.”
I shared another speaking glance with my father. When he married my mom, he must have loved her very much to accept such a story. I thought of some of my past boyfriends and knew that none of them would have stuck around if I showed them how I could levitate the remote while we ate popcorn on the couch.
“We are telling you early because a great danger has entered the world. Last night, which was morning in the Ural Mountains, a meteor exploded in an air burst over the Chelyabinsk region.
“I am the last surviving member of the original five. I am too old to travel to Russia. You,” and this time he pointed to me and to Theo, “must go. You must find the blast site and look for signs that someone, or something, has come through.” The emphasis he placed on “thing” had Grandpa Basil twitching his fingers to show the illusion of the bauk once more.
“You,” he said, this time spearing Julian with his fierce gaze, “will go to Paris.” Julian blinked. “We lost track of Aunt Irene for a time while she was traveling around western Europe, chasing down rumors of a creature with the hind legs of a horse, a human torso, and a dog’s head. When she died in 1960, the lawyers mailed us her journals from Paris, but some are missing. You must find her missing journals. She followed up on hundreds of reports of supernatural creatures all over the world before she passed. We need to know what she discovered.”
Uncle Alex stopped. The aunts and my parents looked grimly at Theo and me.
“You are young,” Aunt Helen said, “but you have been training all your lives. You have magic as well. We have full faith in you.” She turned to Julian, “Grandson, do not chafe at your assignment. It is gravely important and Uncle Alex has seen that it will not be long before you join your cousins.”
I sat back against the couch cushions and tried to organize my thoughts. First of all, I couldn’t go. I was in my final semester of my English master’s program. I was a TA; I had responsibilities. Second, the whole idea was ludicrous. I bet meteors blew up in remote places on a regular basis. Why this time did we have to drop everything and chase unknowns? Finally, I did not have faith that my magic would be any help at all on this sort of mission, quest, what to call it? I could barely do anything. Theo, at least could use his magic reliably. If anything, I would slow him down with my sparks and my levitating pencils.
“Why can’t Uncle Alex look at the blast site and check for monsters?” I asked.
“A great question, Verena. That is exactly what I have done the other times in this past century that we have heard of an air burst of