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I turned around and offered him the ghost of a smile. A ghost of a smile to match the ghost of my career.
“A little,” I said.
“I’m—I’m sorry.”
“For what? You didn’t do anything.” I turned away and blinked away an annoying tear nipping at the back of my eyeball.
“For my brother. On his behalf, I apologize that he’s such an ass.”
I laughed through my impending tears, which resulted in a kind of choked-out grunt.
“Unnecessary, but thank you anyway. I guess things just don’t always go to plan.”
“As it goes in love and war,” he said. I tried not to read into it.
“I think the real enemy here is Greta Wolf.”
“And here I thought it was me,” Ondrej said.
I smirked. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”
“Want to—want to go for a walk? It’s chilly, but the lights are bright, and there is a little Christmas spirit in the air. We can bundle and have hot wine. It might cheer us both up.”
My body flooded with heat. “I’d love to.”
The Prague evening had draped itself in a velvety cloak. The city lights twinkled like stars caught in the ancient architecture.
“You really do Christmas well in this part of the world,” I said, noting the scents of gingerbread and the merriment coiled around every lamppost.
“This is the Old Word. We take our traditions very seriously. You’ll see at the gala on Saturday.”
“Gala?”
Ondrej stopped walking and looked at me. “Did no one tell you?”
“Apparently not.”
“Our annual winter gala. We’ve been throwing it since the very beginning. It always coincides with the time when we celebrate Mikuláš.”
“And he is?”
“I suppose he’s like our version of Sinterklaas. Or, St. Nick. But a slightly more morbid one, I must admit. He’s this bearded bishop figure who visits the children with two friends in tow, an angel and a devil. They come to the children’s homes to judge how they have been all year. If they have been good, the angel gives them sweets. If they have been bad, the devil threatens to put them in his sack and take them to hell. To escape this cruel fate, the kids must recite a poem or sing a song. Instead of candy, these bad kids get potatoes.”
“Well, that’s all rather terrifying. Puts the creepy Elf on a Shelf into perspective.”
Ondrej chuckled. “We have a dark sense of morality around here.”
Ondrej led the way toward the banks of the Vltava. The path wound through quieter streets before opening up to the panoramic vista of the river. As we walked, the noises of the city softened to a distant hum, the only immediate sounds being the gentle lapping of the water against the banks and our footsteps in the snow.
“Do you ever get used to it?” I asked, looking around at the timeless beauty.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know—this. All of this magic and history.”
He laughed lightly. “Well, when it’s all you’ve ever known, you don’t think about it as much. But it doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate her. I feel like I learn something new about Prague every day. She is shrouded in secrets.” He wiggled his eyebrows.
We kept walking, and finally, Ondrej stopped at a spot where the view was particularly breathtaking. Prague Castle lit up the distance, creating a haunting medieval backdrop. He leaned against the railing, his gaze fixed on the flowing river, lost in thought.
