Threads and Flames by Esther Friesner Page B

nodded. “That’s a good girl. We can’t just give up on our friend. Don’t worry, we won’t wait forever. You need to eat. If Zusa’s not on the next ferry, we’ll go straight to Henda’s.” God willing, I’ll find our way there without Zusa’s help, she thought uneasily. “Hold on to the big bag for me and don’t let go. I need to get out her address.” She squatted beside the larger traveling bag, opened it, and began rummaging through her clothes. “Here it is!” She waved the paper victoriously. “Now all we need to do is—”
    She stopped speaking. Something had caught her eye, the sight of a girl with a long braid of shining black hair. Raisa thought she recognized the girl’s flowered shawl, as well. She’d last seen it in the early hours of that very morning. “Luciana?” she called out hopefully. Maybe she’s seen Zusa, or knows what’s happened to her, she thought. The girl was standing on a corner just a block off, talking with an old woman and two men, but if she was Luciana, she was too far away to hear her name over the tumult of the streets.
    â€œI think that’s her,” Raisa said, tucking Henda’s address safely away once more before picking up the bags. “Come on, Brina!” She grabbed the child’s hand and walked as fast as she could, crying, “Luciana! Luciana! It’s me!”
    They were halfway down the block when the black-haired girl heard them and turned her head. “Raisa?” Luciana’s beautiful face lit up with the joy of recognition.
    The face of the old woman and the two rough-looking men with her were not so pleased to see Raisa and Brina come running up to greet the Italian girl. She spoke a few tense words to the men, who hustled Luciana off the street, deep into a narrow space between two buildings.
    Vultures! The black-clad woman’s words of warning struck Raisa like a lightning bolt. She almost tripped over her friend’s abandoned valise as she plunged after the old woman, the men, and Luciana without a second thought. Partway into the alley, the old woman turned to face her, blocking her way, shouting, waving her hands, making it clear that Raisa wasn’t welcome and should leave. In the dark, stinking space, the men flanking Luciana glared threats at Raisa. Brina yelped and cowered. She began to tug at Raisa’s skirt, trying to make her come away from the scary men.
    Raisa didn’t move. She felt the blood leaving her face, but she stood her ground in spite of the fear freezing her bones. She had no idea what these people must have said or done to have gotten their hands on Luciana, no idea how to stop them now. She knew only that she had to do something, or her friend would be lost.
    â€œLeave her alone!” she yelled as loudly as she could. “Get away from her! Help! Help! Someone help us! Someone—”
    The woman slapped Raisa’s face so hard she saw dazzling bursts of light. One of the men made a grab for Brina. He was short but powerfully built, his arms bulging with muscles under a thin stained shirt. He had no trouble tearing the child away from Raisa. Brina shrieked and kicked, batting at his face. Another man might have laughed at the little girl’s ridiculous attempt to defend herself, but he held her with one arm and raised the other, ready to hit her with a scarred fist the size of a grapefruit.
    Raisa threw herself at him and clung to his arm, weighing it down so that he couldn’t strike Brina. His companion roared with coarse laughter while he cursed and tried to shake her off. Meanwhile, the old woman seized Luciana’s arm and began dragging her away. The Italian girl fought back, broke the woman’s grip, and staggered to the mouth of the alley-way, shouting for aid. The old woman ran after her.
    Still laughing, the second man pulled Raisa off his partner as casually as if he were