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as a summer sky? For a moment, Blaire thought that maybe it was her own eyes that were the problem.
    “ Dariya?”
    The mysterious girl shook her head rigorously, left to right. She used her small pale hand to lift a bushel of the tangled curls in order to reveal a primitive hearing device. Blaire’s features swam in momentary confusion as she studied the oversized contraption that wrapped itself around the young child’s ear like a malicious alien trying to burrow into her brain.
    Blaire pointed to the little girl, and then pressed her hands to her ears while shaking her head from left to right. Up and down the girl nodded to confirm that she was deaf.
    “You’re not Dariya,” Blaire said, coming to grips with the strange reality. The girl shook her head in agreement. “Her sister? You’re her sister? Twins?”
    The girl read Blaire’s lips carefully and nodded in agreement once again. She lifted her hand and allowed her fingers to move slowly in silent conversation. Blaire did not sign, but she did know some letters, and, once the girl finished, Blaire spoke.
    “Danya?”
    Danya nodded up and down with a smile, displaying a toothy grin.
    “My name is Ms. Baker,” Blaire said with slow and exaggerated facial movements. “What were you doing?” Blaire squatted and pointed toward the vent.
    “Did you see something down there?” Blaire asked as she peered into the darkness that lay just beyond the metal cover of the vent.
    Danya shrugged, and then she picked up an old, instant camera from the floor. She hung the camera on her neck by a worn leather strap.
    “Did you take a picture?” Blaire asked pointing toward the camera and mimicking the taking of a snapshot.
    Left to right the little girl nodded as she popped open the back of the camera to reveal that there was no film before scampering out of the room. Blaire’s eyes followed Danya as she exited, and then her gaze returned to the vent in the floor.

    Marko Anglov’s dimly lit broom closet of an office incited a claustrophobic reaction instantly upon entering. The director of St. Sebastian appeared professional sitting on the other side of the scratched -up desk. His black hair was combed neatly to one side, though some small cowlicks reveled in temporary freedom. With a studying look, Marko flipped through some papers before glancing back up at the pair who couldn’t help but feel out of place.
    “We are happy that you two are here to help,” he said with an odd smile that made him appear as if he had a metal plate in one side of his jaw.
    “We’re glad to be here,” Blaire replied.
    “I should start by telling you a little about St. Sebastian, no?”
    “Yes, of course. This used to be a home, right?” Blaire looked at the piles of folders heaped on the desk and wondered what they contained.
    “Correct,” Marko stated dryly. “Boslav was once a quite successful town, believe it or not. There were jobs and monied families. People came here for opportunity and a quiet life, which is what brought Anastasia Lutsky along with her mother Magda. Anastasia quickly found work cooking and cleaning right here in this house when it was the private residence of Viktor Raspla, an elderly heir to a banking fortune. The Lutsky’s were from Slokivka as many of the immigrants were at that time. It was a place where Magda was known for taking in unwanted children, and that reputation followed her here. People began to travel to Borslav to drop their unwanted children on the Lutsky’s doorstep, and, while the pair were by no means rich, Magda always took them in and cared for them in the best way she could.
    Viktor, on the other hand, was a self -serving man. As the years passed, many of his relatives died off or were banished from the home and his life for their incredible greed or some other sin. While the offenses of family members could have been real or just as easily imagined by the old man, the result left him completely alone. One day he grew ill and