Sarwat Chadda - Dark Goddess

“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Ivan. He held out a lacquered wooden box. “A present.”

It was made from dark red wood, and had a lid decorated with an inlaid pattern of silver.

Billi’s fingers touched the case, then she raised the lid slowly.

A pistol lay on a white cushion. A fan of silver bullets had been arranged around it. It was a matte black color, simple-looking and plain, but as Billi put her hand on the cold surface, she could see that the gun was elegant in its simplicity. The best weapons always were.

“You do know how to shoot?”

“Point and click.”

“Glock 26,” Ivan said. He held one of the silver bullets between his thumb and forefinger. “Ninety-nine percent pure. Just in case.”

Despite the three bladed weapons buckled to her armor, Billi picked it up. It was light and not much bigger than her palm, with a stubby light fixed to the underside of the barrel. Ivan took the magazine and, one by one, clicked in the rounds.

“Fashion is all about the accessories,” he said.

Billi turned the pistol over. She’d used one for target practice, but this was very different. Despite the contempt the Templars had for such weapons, she couldn’t stop herself from wrapping her fingers around the butt and lightly touching the trigger. Her thumb felt along the safety catch.

So small a thing. But there was something compelling in the object. A sword could be played with. There was pleasure in the physical act of wielding it, learning the moves, the cuts, the way it shone and flashed. There was art, beauty, in the sword.

But gunpowder was pure destruction. The gun’s simple functionality made it want to be used…carnage called to it. Despite herself, despite the prejudices against such weapons, Billi wanted it. She slipped it into her pocket.

“Is it true that the Templars don’t use guns?” asked Ivan.

“We live in London, not Baghdad. Gunfights tend to attract a lot of unwanted attention,” Billi said. “Anyway, nothing says serious body trauma like an ax to the head.”

Despite the advances in military technology over the centuries, old-fashioned swords and axes still did the job best. Besides, many of the Unholy needed beheading to be truly destroyed.

The car slowed to a halt.

“We’re here,” said Ivan.

THEY WERE IN A DERELICT PART OF THE SUBURBS, OUT past the huge, wild Izmaylovsky Park. They drove through a ghost town of empty garages, abandoned factories, and lonely single-story shops. All the buildings around them had been demolished, except for one old housing block that sat like a squat brick in the center of a wasteland of mud and concrete. The only thing that broke its shape was a tall, faintly smoking chimney. Otherwise it was five stories of identical windows, with a few satellite dishes to break the monotony of the design.

Snow flurries tumbled chaotically around them as they stood outside the car. They’d parked down a side alley. Large industrial-sized bins lined the wall, stuffed with broken furniture, bits of carpet, and snow-sprinkled garbage bags. Ivan walked to the mouth of the narrow corridor and waited, watching the building opposite. His two companions were making last-minute checks to their gear. Yuri reloaded three times before finally leaving his pistol alone. Everyone had their own way of dealing with their pre-battle nerves.

“Come on,” Billi urged. “What are we waiting for?” For God’s sake, Vasilisa was just across the road! Billi fought the urge to simply run over there shouting out her name.

“Hush,” ordered Ivan.

Two policemen crossed the street toward them. They’d been under the shelter of a boarded-up shop. One flicked his cigarette into the snow and shook Ivan’s hand.

The three men conversed, and Ivan passed over a stuffed envelope. The two cops tapped their caps in thanks and wandered away.

Yuri popped the trunk open, and inside sat a neatly stacked row of very new-looking Heckler & Koch submachine guns, all with built-in silencers. Just the thing for a house clearance. Dimitri took one, and handed another to Ivan, who slung it over his shoulder. He blew across the laser targeter, wiping the lens with his gloved finger, then switched the beam on. The red spot of laser light slid across the white snow, up the wall, and onto the building across from them. “Three families. All are Polenitsy.” He spat the last word.

How he hates them. Billi almost winced at the intensity of his anger. Ivan checked his clip and slotted it in. “Are you ready?”

“Lead on, Macduff.”

Billi watched the first team of men sneak into the lonely building.

Ivan nodded, and the four of them, Ivan in front, then Dimitri, Yuri, and Billi at the back, ran across the snow-covered street.

Billi pulled out her pistol as she came through the entrance.

The front door had been replaced with a hardboard panel, and Dimitri unscrewed the landing light, leaving the place dark. There was a small lift in front of them: the doors wedged open with a steel bin. The stairs up were bare concrete. A rag of carpet lay at the entrance, sticky with filth. Cigarette butts littered the tiled floor.

This is where they’re keeping her? They were scum. Billi realized how tightly she was clutching her pistol, and slowly loosened her grip. Getting mad now wouldn’t help anyone, least of all Vasilisa. She sighed and put her hand on the door in the side wall.

It opened to reveal a man wearing a thick woolen robe, yawning. He straightened his spectacles and stared at Billi. Yuri stepped past her and put the barrel of his pistol against the man’s chest. There was a muffled click and the man stepped back. He lowered his eyes to the wet stain spreading on his chest. He shook his head, confused, then sank to his knees. He put his hands on the floor, coughed, and finally collapsed, face down. Blood seeped out from under him, spreading to the newspaper on the floor, staining the white pages red.

Yuri blew the smoke out of the end of his silencer.

Billi clenched her teeth hard, holding in the scream. The man had just stepped out to get his paper. The burned gunpowder stung her eyes, raising tears. Ivan nudged the dead man’s head with his boot.

“Clean up,” he whispered, and instantly Dimitri and Yuri swept past him into the flat.

Cold blood. That man had been killed in cold blood. She shoved Ivan aside.

“What are you doing?” he hissed, grabbing her arm.

Three families were in this building. Billi had only been thinking of getting Vasilisa, not about what would happen to the other people here. It seemed like the Bogatyrs were going to slaughter them all.

“The Polenitsy are monsters, Billi,” said Ivan. The hate in his eyes transformed his face into something dark and ugly.

“Let go of me.” This was not how Templars did things. She pulled her arm free.

“Shh!” he hissed. Moving slowly, Ivan walked up to the half-landing, gun pointing up.

Billi listened.

Something sharp was scraping the wall on the floor above, like nails on a chalkboard. Billi gritted her teeth. She took the pistol in a two-handed grip and tripped the safety.

A sharp edge clicked on the concrete above her. Then another. Billi held her breath and concentrated on the minutest of noises.

There was a brief grunt, and a black beast launched itself from the floor above, diving across the stairwell and crashing onto the landing in front of Ivan. It grabbed the long silencer of the gun and twisted it away. Ivan instinctively pulled the trigger, but the trio of bullet holes popped the plaster. They wrestled for control of the submachine gun, and Ivan charged forward, sending them both over the banister.

Howls and screams erupted from everywhere, swiftly followed by gunfire as Yuri and Dimitri came into the lobby. Sparks of light blazed above Billi. She saw a momentary tangle of Ivan and the werewolf wrestling on the floor. For a second she moved toward Ivan to help, then stopped. Vasilisa was what was most important here. Billi had to find her. The stairs were a dangerous place to be caught, so she rushed up to the next floor. She switched on her pistol light and swept it down the short unlit corridor that led off the staircase.