If there was a curse upon Anya, it seemed to work in reverse.  The more she grew, the more her adoptive family fell in love with the preternatural child.  Elizaveta carried her in a sling on her back, twirling around with a mop as she sung lullabies to the child who burbled along like a songbird.  Liliya had to be dissuaded by Dmitri from beginning training the small girl on bow and arrow.  She could not yet walk, just play with blocks and crawl around the inn like a missile headed straight for disaster.  Iosif was never not slipping Anya freshly pared fruit slices or spoonful’s of apple sauce.  And...