Anna Silverstein lay in Luciano Grazzienneli’s bed, the soft sheets draped over her naked curves. He had already tried twice to awaken her but she was not ready to face the day. Last night, just before he had called for her, she had received a letter with a small yellow star of David in the upper left hand corner of the envelope. Her hands had shaken too badly to open it. The dreams had been graphic and brutal for the past week. She knew there was bad news waiting for her.<br/><br/>Since the Nazi’s had arrested her son, such a young boy he was, not even a teenager, Anna had been lost. The only good time was the nights when Luc came to her bed or invited her to his. She was a Jewess but easily passed as a German with her blonde hair and brown eyes. Teaching at the Catholic preschool also averted suspicion from her heritage, but not so with her husband, Albert and her son, Misha.<br/><br/>Meeting Captain Grazzienneli had been quite by accident, or serendipity. She took in laundry to supplement her income and he had found her through some left over receipt from his brother’s pocket. Some months later, when Misha had been taken, she was beside herself with worry and grief. The man had taken her for a drink and the rest was history.<br/><br/>But this morning, the sun mocked her with its brilliant promise of a holiday. Luc had wanted her to get away and had brought her with him to Mittenwald. So here she was and with a handsome inquiring face staring into her eyes, hair tumbled around her face and all she could think of was the letter.<br/><br/>“Thank you. If you don’t mind, I will have a slow morning and meet you later this day. I would like to take a leisurely bath and enjoy my morning tea out on the balcony alone.<br/>When Luciano left, looking like a wealthy, confident man who might grace the cover of a men’s magazine during peace time, Anna rose and gathered her housecoat around her. With trembling fingers, she took the crumpled envelope from her bag. Taking a deep breath, she ripped the envelope and stared at the blotchy coded message.<br/><br/>EXECUTION: SUMMER SLAUGHTER HOUSE: AUSCHWITZ POLAND:RIP:SO SORRY NO AL<br/><br/>Anna stared at it.No Al? Her brain refused to take it in. No Al? Slaughterhouse? Had Al been in Auschwitz? No word had come about him for such a long time since he had been taken to the work detail. She sank down on the bed and stared at the block letters. Al was dead. He had been slaughtered. Executed. Al? He was no threat to anyone, rather bookish and very compliant. He had been one of the first to wear that damned star and was always after her to cooperate. Misha was a rebel like her and a fighter, but now. She tucked the letter away and went to draw the bath water. What she needed was time with Luc in this bed, until all reality faded from her life, until all that mattered was the sweat of two bodies mingling, until there was no more war, until all that remained was lust.<br/>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br/><br/>Isolde helped Chaya pack her clothes. As soon as Chaya would be in some dainty sky blue bit of silk, Isolde would unpack it and put in a pair of summer weight wool slacks. She finally did succumb to allowing one dress but it was navy with white trim and a more serviceable cotton. Isolde wanted nothing feminine but Chaya won out on a pair of white kid leather ankle boots with a kitten heel for Isolde to wear with that navy dress.<br/><br/>“There will be parades,” Chaya said, scandalized that Isolde refused to consider a day off from her mission of destruction to everyone and everything Nazi.<br/><br/>“I am not going for a party,” Isolde explained, not unkindly, “I’m going to see what kind of intelligence I can gather. Perhaps this will be a good time for Hamish to reduce the number of Nazi officers. Maybe Darcy will be there and we can get close enough to take her out. I am not interested in a good time. I definitely do not want to attract any men’s attention. Chaya, I need to blend with the background.” She ruffled her hand over her short curly hair. “Be sure to put in those summer white wool trousers and that boxy olive green top to pair with it.”<br/><br/>Chaya made a face but did as she was asked.<br/><br/>“You can dress in rags and cut your beautiful curly mane into tatters, but Isolde Devereaux, you are still a head turner. Men will be falling all over themselves to talk to you. I think you will  leave a wake of broken hearts behind you as you walk among them.” The young girl said with a small smile.<br/><br/>“Let’s hope not,” Isolde laughed. “Quick in, quick out, just like Hamish has taught me. You have nothing to worry about. Wait, don’t pack those pearls. I’m not going to wear them.”<br/><br/>Isolde thought of the parade. Maybe Darcy was there, maybe not. Isolde had stopped using magik and relied on the training that Hamish was providing and the hatred that burned in her guts at the Nazi regime. She gritted her teeth at her foolish naivete and the romantic fire that has once warmed her heart but had burnt her spirit. Maybe she would see Erlind or even that woman, Yvonne. Nazis! She spat in her hand and then went to the sink to wash the pollution of their names off<br/><br/>She didn’t know all the particulars, but she did know that she and Chaya for sure would be joining Hamish in Mittenwald. While Chaya was finishing packing, Isolde slipped a Ruger into the back waistband of her pants. She also knew that death and destruction were going to be following in her wake, not a string of adoring men.