Sarwat Chadda - Dark Goddess

“Billi…”

“What, Ivan? What?” Billi wrapped her arm around the girl. “Is this what the Bogatyrs do? You think this is noble?”

Conflicting emotions fought in Ivan’s eyes. Frustration and rage. Against his desire to be better. To be a true Bogatyr. Nobility wasn’t in the blood, it was in the deed.

“Follow me.” He headed upstairs.

The floor above was no different-run-down and damp. Ivan went to the farthest door and rammed his boot into the lock, shattering it out of its frame.

A young woman cowered behind a cupboard. She wore a rough woolen coat and had been putting on her shoes when they’d burst in. An old-fashioned green paisley scarf covered her head. She fell to her knees, hands raised, cowering.

Ivan spoke rapidly and helped her up.

The girl in Billi’s arms whimpered and struggled when she saw the young woman. Billi let her go, and she ran into her arms.

Men shouted from below. The Bogatyrs must have gathered in the lobby. They wanted to know if Ivan was okay.

“I’ll deal with them,” he said, and left.

“Do you speak English?” Billi asked. The young woman nodded.

“Good. We’re getting you two out of here.” She inspected the apartment for a way out, but found none. She pulled back the curtains.

The back of the block overlooked a wide field of derelict buildings. The nearest abutted the back of theirs. Billi opened the window and reckoned the drop was about fifteen feet. The young woman stood beside her and peered out.

Billi heard footsteps banging on the stairs.

The paisley woman jumped first. Despite her human appearance, she landed softly on all fours. She twitched her head, then stood up, arms reaching toward the window.

Billi took the girl and dangled her out over the edge, lowering her slowly down the wall. Her back strained and she bent double over the windowsill, the stiff Kevlar jacket now a hindrance, restricting her movements.

“Billi!” Someone, Lance, shouted for her. But there were more men, more voices, behind him.

Sod it!

Billi let go.

The girl cried as she fell, but then there was a grunt as Paisley caught her. Billi struggled back in-she had half fallen out the window-just as Lance and two Bogatyrs burst in. Billi blocked the window from their view.

“ D’accord?” Lance asked.

Billi took a deep breath and straightened her armor. “Yes, I’m okay.” She followed Lance and the other men downstairs.

Back in the lobby it was clear the battle was over. The air was tainted with the metallic sting of gunpowder, and fresh bullet holes decorated the walls. A half dozen Bogatyrs had gathered in the ground-floor lobby. Three more lay against the wall, unmoving. The man who’d come out to collect his paper lay by the door, and there were four other bullet-ridden corpses-women, their bodies bleached white.

Ivan stood by the door with Dimitri. Billi gave him a small nod.

“No Vasilisa?” asked Gwaine. His ax had been cleaned, but blood still smeared the bright steel.

Billi shook her head and gestured to the bodies. “All this bloodshed for nothing.”

“They were the Unholy,” he said.

Billi just thought of the frightened girl cowering under a quilt, her mother dead in the corridor. “Yeah, ’course they were.”

WHAT A BLOODY DISASTER!

Billi hurled her body armor across her bedroom. It crashed into an elegant antique chair, sending both across the floor. Then she slumped down onto her bed.

She glanced at the satellite phone; her dad had left a message. No doubt eager for the good news.

How many dead? Three Bogatyrs and nine Polenitsy. A couple of the werewolves had escaped in the confusion, but there had been no other children. It was clear that Vasilisa hadn’t been there. The photo that Billi had convinced herself was Vasilisa had been the werewolf child. Some news.

Maybe Elaine had found something in the library. But if she came up blank, Billi had no idea how they could find Vasilisa before it was too late. It was Thursday lunchtime already, and the full moon was coming up on Saturday.

She grabbed the phone and took the elevator down to report in to her dad outside-you never knew who was listening here.

The elevators halted on one of the other floors. The doors opened and Koshchey stood waiting.

His massive frame blocked the elevator doors, and he was so tall he’d have to lower his head to get in. His suit rustled softly as he brushed it and adjusted his cuffs. Billi caught the crimson sparkle of rubies in the cuff links. The guy was vain and flashy. It was as though he’d modeled himself on Ivan: debonair outfits and cool looks. But Ivan carried himself with a seamless, casual elegance. Koshchey was a million miles away from that. Billi wasn’t sure what would suit Koshchey except a butcher’s apron.

“Are you well, Lady SanGreal?”

“I’m fine.”

He stepped into the elevator, and Billi could have sworn it dropped a few inches under his weight.

“I am sorry about today. Very unpleasant. But do not worry, we will find your friend.” He straightened the fat knot of his tie, checking himself, admiring himself, in the mirrored paneling. “We moved too quickly, without confirming our intelligence. Such operations carry a large risk of…”

“Failure?”

“Disappointment. We will find her.” He spoke with hard certainty. “You will have my best men to help you.”

“And Ivan? Will he help?”

“Alas, no. I cannot permit it. He is best here, where I can protect him.”

Where you can keep an eye on him, you mean.

Koshchey made a broad sweep with his hand. “Come with me. I have a gift.”

“Really, it’s not necessary.”

“Oh, but it is.” He reached out and pressed a button on the elevator’s control panel.

The elevator took them up and up. Billi shifted as far away from Koshchey as she could, but the elevator was small and Koshchey was huge. As they passed each floor, a bell chimed and illuminated the floor numbers above the door.

The elevator stopped at the thirtieth floor and the doors slid open.

“My suite,” said Koshchey.

“Which used to be Ivan’s father’s, right?”

“And now it is mine. You like Ivan, do you not?” He raised an eyebrow, interested in Billi’s response. “All the young women do. He has charm, that boy.”

“And guts.”

“Yes, yes. The Romanovs never lacked for courage.” Koshchey shook his massive head. “But the boy is an idealist. He does not understand that there are no rules in war.” He smiled as if he were sharing a secret joke with Billi. “Unlike you, SanGreal. I think you understand that all too well.”

“What do you mean?”

“Is there anything you wouldn’t do to get the job done?” He drew his red beard into a neat point as he talked.

Billi couldn’t answer. She couldn’t say, “But I don’t go around killing innocent children,” because she might have to do exactly that before the week was through. Billi lowered her head in shame.

“I thought as much,” said Koshchey. “If Ivan was more like you, I would gladly hand the Bogatyrs over to him.” He stepped out of the elevator and strode across into a large entryway, tall windows along one wall, the morning sunlight sweeping across the lofty space. “Magnificent, isn’t it?”

Mist hung over the city of Moscow. Only the tallest towers pierced the white veil, so they looked like the palaces of angels floating on clouds. Billi followed Koshchey along the row of windows toward a pair of doors, each bearing the imperial double-headed eagle in dark bronze.

The doors opened into a long living room, grander and more opulent than Billi’s. Thick black marble columns rose up sixty feet to support a domed roof that was covered in mosaic art. A trio of valiant knights on horseback fought in a circle of wolves, their swords deep red with blood and their bodies slashed and torn by claws. The battle was in a snowbound forest, and within the darker recesses a figure stood, half emerging froma cave. All Billi could see were the shining black eyes and matted gray hair. Long bony fingers clutched a tall staff decorated with bones.