Sarwat Chadda - Dark Goddess

“Stalin’s Ministry,” said Gwaine. “I thought it had been sold off during the collapse of Communism.”

“To me,” said Koshchey. “You will treat it as your own home during your stay here. You will want for nothing.”

The gates opened up and the cavalcade of cars rolled down a ramp into the parking garage. Only small patches of the underground chamber were lit, but the distant reflections of light on metal gave Billi a sense of its size. It had to be as big as a football field.

Koshchey owned all of this?

While the Bogatyrs got busy unloading their luggage, Koshchey directed the Templars toward the row of elevators. “Ivan.” He summoned the young man over. “Escort Billi to her room. I have business to discuss with the seneschal.”

Billi stepped between them. “We don’t have any time to waste. I think we-”

“Enough, squire,” snapped Gwaine. He glowered at her, and for a second Billi was tempted to ignore him. The full moon was only days away. But slowly she shut her mouth. Ivan, close by, cleared his throat.

“Which one?” he asked.

“The Morevna suite.”

“Shall we?” Ivan gave a mock bow and led her to a polished bronze door. An elevator. The door slid open and they entered.

The lift car was paneled with dark wood and inlaid with an abstract pattern of mother-of-pearl that glimmered in the hazy lamplight. Ivan pulled a small key from his pocket and inserted it into a brightly polished plaque in the wall.

As the elevator ascended, Billi took a long look at Ivan. He had typically Slavic features: pale skin, wide, high cheekbones, and deep-set eyes of storm-cloud gray. Ivan sensed her studying him, and his hand rose to awkwardly cover his face as he drew his fingers through his bristling brown hair.

“The thirteenth floor?” asked Billi. “Isn’t that unlucky?”

“Only for a Templar.” The elevator settled gently to a halt, and the door opened into darkness. The light from the elevator illuminated just the first few feet of an emerald-veined marble floor. Then, one by one, like night constellations, enormous chandeliers came to life, their light caught and amplified a thousand fold through a sparkling cosmos of brilliant crystal.

Tall columns like flutes rose to support the huge, multivaulted ceiling, and Billi peered at the sky-filled mosaics of gods, heroes, and demons. Warriors clad in gold battled monstrous bears and wolves. Castles floated among the clouds, and wolves flew from the towers. In a vast battlefield stood a shining warrior woman, sword aloft and long blond hair swirling. She wore a deep-red coat, its sleeves and front embroidered with golden designs of flaming phoenixes.

“Maria Morevna,” said Ivan. “A great princess. A Bogatyr.”

“Who made all this?” It was unreal.

“The Soviets.”

“No expense spared, eh?”

Ivan marched onward. “Follow me.”

Ahead was a double door decorated with gilt filigree. Ivan pushed it open.

The bedroom was dominated by a canopied bed, the wood as pale as pearl. Sheer white curtains hung from the bed’s frame, while thick red drapes half covered gilt-framed mirrors on the walls. They reflected the room infinitely upon itself; it was difficult to see where the room ended and the illusion began. Through a curtain Billi saw a freestanding marble bath on curling, clawed legs, with steam rising from the water.

“How do you like my home?” asked Ivan.

“Yours? Koshchey said it was his.”

Ivan’s eyes flashed angrily. He was a strange mix of coolness and anger. The two emotions played out just under the surface. He acted the aristocrat, in control and in command. But underneath was a young man who’d just lost his father. And from the way he’d spoken to Koshchey, all was not well on that front either.

Ivan peered around the vast suite. “Bought with Romanov money. Koshchey is…safeguarding it for me until I’m old enough to inherit, when I’m eighteen.” He smiled ruefully. “I need to make sure I stay healthy for two more years.”

“Then just avoid fighting ghuls one-on-one,” said Billi. She wandered around the room in a daze. Its ceiling was higher than her whole house.

“It is like a fairy tale, yes?” Ivan tossed a key onto the bed. “Do you remember the way to the elevator?”

“Straight down, through the double doors.”

“The other Templars are on the twelfth floor. Koshchey is on the thirtieth; he has temporarily requisitioned my father’s suite. I am on the floor below him.” It was clear he wasn’t happy with this arrangement. “There is a swimming pool in the sub basement.”

He turned to leave, then stopped. “What did you mean earlier, ‘We don’t have time to waste’?” His forehead crumpled into a frown, and Billi had a sudden and overwhelming urge to smooth it away. She flushed and shifted her attention awkwardly to the mural above her.

“I just meant that an innocent girl will die unless we find her,” she mumbled. When she dared to look back at Ivan, he was watching her, amused.

He knows I’m hiding something.

“ Da , that is true. We will help you find her, as we promised. We will talk tomorrow.”

“Well, thank you very much,” she managed stiffly. “So…good night, Ivan.”

He smirked. “Good night, Billi SanGreal.”

Billi lay wide awake, staring up at the firebird mosaic over her head. Her body begged for rest, but her mind kept turning over.

It had gone perfectly. Koshchey wanted to help. He hated the Polenitsy as much as they did. Gwaine had come by and told her Koshchey had all his men out already. He should have news by tomorrow morning.

If Vasilisa was here, Koshchey would find her. Billi had been up for more than twenty-four hours, and without some sleep she’d be useless to anyone. The best thing she could do was rest and be ready in the morning.

Then why did she feel something was so terribly wrong?

The previous Tsar’s death? People died in her line of business. The Templars had counted on Tsar Alexei’s aid, but Koshchey seemed just as willing. Almost too willing.

Paranoia. Maybe that was all it was. For once, things were going her way, and she wasn’t used to it. Maybe Koshchey’s past wasn’t a good one. Maybe he did have a bad reputation for the things he’d done long ago, but who didn’t? Her dad had been accused of her mother’s death, and Billi had blood on her own hands; she had no right to pass judgment on others.

No, Koshchey didn’t bother her.

Ivan bothered her.

She couldn’t get those gray eyes out of her mind. He looked at her like he was looking right into her soul. A lot of girls might fall for that sort of thing.

But not her.

BILLI HAD SLEPT BADLY. IT WAS STILL AN HOUR OR so before breakfast and she needed to clear her head. Thursday and another day gone. She checked her mobile for news from Karelia. Nothing. Maybe she should find Koshchey, see if he’d discovered anything. Or Ivan. Someone had to know where Vasilisa was. They only had three days left to find her. Three days before Fimbulwinter.

Billi paced the room, full of nervous energy, constantly flicking her mobile open and shut. Eventually she threw the phone on the bed. She needed to get herself together. Some hard exercise to clear out some of that buzz in her head.

There was a wardrobe of brand-new clothes in her suite. She slipped into a dark blue swimsuit, then grabbed a thick white cotton bathrobe and towel on her way out.

The route to the swimming pool was simple: out on level B2, then follow the smell of chlorine and moisture.

Dim blue pool lights shone from under the water. The pool itself was Olympic sized, the roof a ribbed curving barrel hung with brass lamps. The only sound was the water lapping against the pool edge.