“But when I stepped in to free the skinwalkers,” she admitted, “I knew Rasputin would see it as a challenge. That I would be seen and treated as a threat.”
“So why d’ye do it?” I blurted out, before I could think to be more diplomatic about it. I glanced at the skinwalkers around the room. “No offense. It seems like a big risk to take for people she didn’t even know, that’s all.”
Serge grinned, a flash of white teeth appearing beneath his unkempt beard, a stark contrast to his dark, swarthy features. “No, it is good question.”
“I found out about the prison years ago, when I was still working for Rasputin and his people,” Othello explained. “But I didn’t think to do anything with the information until I started working for GrimmTech.” She hunched forward, bracing her elbows on her knees, fingers steepled. “I started to see opportunities. Ways to integrate magic and machines. When I mentioned it to Nate, he began throwing out possibilities. Things like the portable Gateways.”
“Nate’s tiny balls,” I said, smirking at the range of baffled expressions that earned me from everyone in the room but Othello, who knew exactly where the colorful phrase had come from.
Othello grinned. “Exactly. But machines I knew already. What I needed were employees who specialized in magic. Freaks who had time to spare. And that’s when I recalled the stories I’d heard about a prison full of immortal shapeshifting witches…” Othello trailed off meaningfully.
“So that’s who you’ve been workin’ with to make your toys.” To be honest, I’d always been curious but had assumed she’d been working alongside the Academy or some other group of magical know-it-alls. But using her newfound authority to recruit free agents whose loyalty was to Othello and Othello alone?
Yeah.
That was the Othello I knew.
“There was a learning curve,” Othello admitted, “and a long rehabilitation process, but yes. They’ve been invaluable to me as fellow researchers. And, in some cases, soldiers.” Othello glanced at the skinwalkers in the room, who nodded as one.
“And why d’ye need soldiers?” I asked, though—after having to be rescued from a jail cell in the middle of a seemingly hostile and unfamiliar country—I suspected I already knew the answer.
“Because we’re at war,” Felix replied, as if that were obvious.
I sighed and settled back in my seat. “Here’s what I don’t understand,” I said, finally, still facing Othello. “First ye tell me it’s a game. Now ye insist it’s a war. Which is it?”
“For Rasputin, I believe it is still a game,” Othello said. “So far. But the stakes are higher, now. All that saves it from being a war on his end is the fact that he isn’t taking things as seriously as we have been. Despite the body count.”
“The body count?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“Casualties, Miss MacKenna,” Vitaly said, still looking remarkably cheery despite the context of the conversation. He’d crossed his legs at the ankles, his cap pulled back to expose eyes that danced with the same mischievous glint I’d seen in Othello’s. Hereditary, maybe? Or maybe they’d picked it up from each other over the years, like a verbal tic neither could help. “So far, we have managed to avoid them,” he continued. “Rasputin—thanks to you and your werebear comrade—has not been so lucky.”
“What’s he talkin’ about?” I asked, turning back to Othello.
“When The Fighting Bears came for Christoff and his family, they did so under Rasputin’s orders,” Othello explained. “I wasn’t certain of this, at first, but I was finally able to trace a money trail which tied them to Rasputin’s organization. It’s why I came here myself. I had to be sure.”
“When ye were savin’ me, ye told me ye know where Christoff and Hilde are,” I said, meeting her eyes. I tried to keep the hostility out of my voice, but it was hard; I had a feeling I wouldn’t like the answer to the question I was about to ask. “How long have ye known?”
“It’s not that simple, Quinn.”
“How long?” I asked again, clutching the arms of my chair so hard the rubber bowed beneath my fingers with an audible squeak.
“Two weeks,” Vitaly answered, drawing my hostile attention away from his cousin. “You should know we have been spending most of that time planning their rescue. Now, however, we fear they have been moved. Freeing you will have only confirmed our presence here, which was likely the conjuror’s plan all along.”
“And now he has your people,” Othello said. “Which makes things even more complicated. We suddenly have two rescue operations to consider. And they won’t be nearly as easy to pull off. Security where they were keeping you was a joke; Rasputin was practically inviting us to save you. We won’t be so lucky the next time. Which is why we’re meeting like this. To discuss our options.”
I frowned. “What options?”
Felix cleared his throat. “She means whether to free some, or all, of them.” He held up a hand before I could say anything. “Or whether to walk away before the rest of us end up captured, as well. Or worse, dead.”
I closed my mouth with an audible snap. I hadn’t realized the stakes were that high, and the idea that I was asking them all to risk their lives to save people most of them had never even met didn’t sit well with me. If you were going to risk your life, you should at least know who or what you were risking it for.
What a mess.
“I vote we proceed with the original plan,” Felicia said, finally. “We find out where they’ve been taken and bribe the guards. Have one of them open a portable Gateway, snatch up our people, then get out before anyone is the wiser.”
Felix was shaking his head. “Before, that might have worked, but now the guards will be under scrutiny. Wards, if they haven’t been put up already, will be added to keep us out. Rasputin might even use the opportunity to draw us out into the open. It’s too risky.”
Felicia frowned but didn’t argue. “So, what do you think we should do?”
“I think we need to find out if they’ve been moved, and where they’ve been taken,” Felix said. “From there, we can decide what to do. How large a risk it is we’d be taking.”
“More surveillance work,” Serge said, with a sigh.
“Please, we all know how much you like to watch,” Vitaly chimed in, grinning. Serge snorted and kicked the other man’s chair. The quivering tension that had been in the air since I arrived seemed to dissipate somewhat; Felix had offered a tentative plan, one which gave everyone time to think and wouldn’t get anyone immediately killed.
Things were looking up.
A thought occurred to me. “I know where they took Lakota, Jimmy, and Leo. One of me visitors said somethin’ about a Baikal facility. D’ye know what he was talkin’ about?”
All the faces turned to me, but only Othello spoke. “It does. But why would they have told you where your people were?” she asked, sounding suspicious.
“Pretty sure the fucker thought I was goin’ to rot in that jail cell,” I replied, shrugging.
Othello shook her head. “We’ll have to look into it. I’m not sure whether it was a slip up, or something Rasputin planted in his head to tell you, hoping it would get back to us. Another potential trap.”
“Ye t’ink he’s planned that far ahead?” I asked, incredulous.
“Further,” Othello said. “I told you, for him this is still a game. He’s been around for over a century, plotting the rise and fall of empires.” Something dark and hateful flitted behind Othello’s eyes. “We have to step carefully. Especially now.”
The room fell silent except for the barely audible whirr of motors emanating from the various electronics as each of us contemplated our own thoughts. I, for one, would have preferred a faster solution, but I knew better than to question Othello’s judgment. Frankly, she knew the lay of the land a hell of a lot better than I did. Still, it sucked; I wasn’t a patient person, by nature.
But, before I could think to bitch about it, a knock sounded.
; Everyone flinched except me.
“Expectin’ company?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“We are hundreds of miles underground,” Vitaly answered, face so serious it made me add several years to his age. “And there are no doors.”
Another knock, more insistent this time.
“That shouldn’t be possible,” Felicia whispered.
“If you would be so kind,” a voice said, bouncing throughout the room as if pouring from the speakers above our heads, “I would like an audience with you all. Please, come out.” The voice was Rasputin’s. I recognized it from the airport; even the haunting method of delivery couldn’t obscure the conjuror’s rich, honeyed tenor.
“Shit,” I said, with feeling. “How the fuck did he find us?”
Everyone stared at me except Othello, who’d gone a little pale. Of the six of us in the room, I was guessing only she and I had ever heard Rasputin’s voice before. The others remained clueless, though all were smart enough to look concerned.
“What do we do?” I asked, willing to follow Othello’s lead even if it meant a fire fight. Though, if she wanted to go out guns blazing, I was going to need a weapon. Preferably something big. Some women like to say size doesn’t matter, but they lied.
“We do what he asks,” Othello said after giving it some thought, the skin between her eyebrows still pinched in concentration. “If he wanted to kill us, he’d never have invited us to talk. Remember, to him it’s still a game. It’s only fun if you have someone to play against.”
I gritted my teeth, but didn’t argue as we rose, preparing to have a nice little chat with the man who’d imprisoned so many of my friends. I found myself praying Othello was right, and that Rasputin wasn’t one of those men who preferred playing with himself.
You know what I mean.
Chapter 12
We left by stepping through a wall, emerging from the underground room into the comparatively harsh light of day. A fine, misty rain was falling, so light it felt like a swarm of gnats brushing against my skin. Rasputin stood perhaps a dozen feet away under an umbrella held by a bald man in a black suit. Other suited men flanked him, though these held semi-automatic rifles and had them trained on us the moment we appeared. We all reacted instinctively: the skinwalkers spreading out a bit, Vitaly trying to shield Othello and I with his body.
I stepped around him; I appreciated the gesture, but I wasn’t interested in watching Vitaly take a bullet meant for me. Besides, with that many guns pointed our way, he afforded me very little protection. I think Othello came to the same realization, because—when I glanced in her direction—I found she’d done the same.
“Ye sure about this?” I asked.
“It is good to see you again, Anichka,” Rasputin said, before Othello could respond.
Othello’s back straightened, but her eyes were cool. Neutral. “I go by Othello, now.”
Rasputin ducked his head slightly. “You always did enjoy taking up new names.” His eyes were as disconcerting as I remembered, but somehow, he seemed less menacing than he had at the airport. Maybe it was the fact that he had us all in his crosshairs, or maybe Othello was right, and he wanted something from us.
Either way, I wasn’t interested in small talk.
“Where are me friends?” I asked. A few of the guns swiveled to point directly at me, and Othello touched my arm, reminding me to play nice. “We didn’t come here to pick a fight with ye,” I elaborated, dialing back the hostility as best I could.
“What a remarkably strange thing to say,” Rasputin said, still focused on Othello. He flicked those wild eyes to me. “I did not capture your friends because I believed them a threat. I did it to see what you all would do. It was a,” he paused, lips pursed as he considered his words, “calculated risk on my part, I believe you would call it.”
I gritted my teeth, but Othello’s increasingly tight grip stopped me from mouthing off. I shook her loose. “Fine, ye talk to him,” I said. “Just know this: I will get ‘em back. All of ‘em.” I glared at the immortal conjuror as if daring him to contradict me. It wasn’t that I was feeling especially confident; no matter how fast I’d gotten, there was no way I’d be able to dodge that many bullets if he told his men to fire on us, let alone save the others. But I’d learned long ago that being bold in the face of certain death tended to earn me more brownie points with the bad guys than being meek; most abhorred weakness, and even fewer had sympathy to appeal to.
“That is why I am here,” Rasputin said. “I wish to propose an exchange.”
“How did you find us?” Felicia asked, her voice breathy with fear.
Rasputin ignored her, choosing instead to stare directly at Othello, who had her arms folded across her stomach. It was less intimidating than crossing them over her chest might have been, but when you’re as well-endowed as Othello, your boobs really do get in the way.
God giveth, and God taketh, I guess.
“He’s known all along,” Othello said, sounding resigned. The others all glanced at Othello in shock, but she didn’t elaborate further. Maybe she sensed the futility of it; he was here now, which was all that really mattered.
Rasputin merely nodded.
“Then why all the games?” she asked, sounding tired.
“At first I thought I might use you to test my people. If you could break out the bear and the Valkyrie, it would only be because there was someone or something to exploit.” Rasputin turned to look at me. “But then this one came, and I saw how you rescued her. It was...impressive. Now, I have something else in mind.”
Othello nodded, but there was something in her expression that made me frown. She no longer looked concerned. In fact, I thought I caught a flash of eagerness in those eyes. In the end, that was the only thing that tipped me off to what happened next.
That, and Othello’s warning to us all.
“Get down!” she yelled, drawing Vitaly and I to our knees, her hands covered by the gloves I’d seen her use during my rescue. The skinwalkers did what they were told, and I caught Serge’s wide eyes staring at me from only a few feet away the instant before the world above our heads exploded with sound and light. The gut-wrenching roar of gunfire made me cover my ears, but that didn’t stop me from seeing what was happening.
From a hunkered position, I watched the miniguns mounted on the trucks take aim and fire, operated by some unseen AI, spewing bullets in smooth, even lines. Back and forth, the two guns scissored, taking out suited men with each pass. A few managed to find cover behind a dilapidated stone wall, but they foolishly concentrated their fire on the trucks themselves, which were unoccupied.
Rasputin lay in a pool of his own blood beside the bald man with the umbrella.
“Stay low, but take them out,” Othello instructed, shouting loud enough to be heard over the roaring of the mounted guns. “When you’re close, I’ll turn the guns off.”
Serge nodded and padded off with the other two skinwalkers. I watched their progress, impressed to find them operating without so much as a word exchanged, like well-trained operatives. It was reassuring, but also eerie.
“Now,” Othello whispered to herself, pressing the tips of her gloved fingers together. The guns stopped firing, leaving behind a silence so thick it made me want to pop my ears. I uncovered them, thinking to do just that, when I heard the remaining men screaming. I glanced over in time to see Serge snap the nearest man’s neck with one smooth, practiced motion. Felicia and Felix had gone with a different approach; they cleaned blood-stained knives off on the jackets of the men they’d killed.
The three of us who’d stayed down rose to our feet as one, surveying the damage.
Dead men in black suits lay strewn about the small clearing, their blood seeping into the wet earth. I watched for signs of life, even the faintest twitch, but saw nothing to warrant a second look. Vitaly, meanwhile, went to check on the trucks. Both were full of holes, the windshields shattered. The facing tires had been blown out on each vehicle, and they li
sted comically as a result. Still, I had to admit that—if tires and windshields were our only casualties—then we’d effectively gotten away with murder.
Literally.
A hacking cough from among the bodies brought me around. I watched in horror as Rasputin sat up and clambered to his feet, snatching up the umbrella in the process. His black suit was covered in mud and fresh blood, but the wounds on his body seemed to have disappeared. He fiddled with the umbrella until it resumed its original shape, then stood beneath it and stared at us, his expression mild. He looked...disappointed. “Was that necessary?” he asked.
“To find out whether or not you were truly immortal?” Othello replied, sounding not the least bit surprised to find him standing once more. “Consider it a calculated risk.”
I covered my ensuing laugh with a cough.
Rasputin considered that for a moment. “I see. Somewhat extreme measures, but I can appreciate the logic.” He took a slow look around. “Are you sure you do not want to come back to work for me?” He sounded impressed and didn’t bother trying to hide it.
“I enjoy being the boss,” Othello replied.
“Somehow that does not surprise me. A partnership, then?”
“Partnership? Don’t ye mean blackmail?” I spat. Rasputin smiled, and there was something so savage in that quick baring of teeth, so criminally insane, that I took an involuntary step back.
“I mean a partnership,” Rasputin continued, his face calm and blank once more except for those too-wide eyes, nestled in his face like the glassy orbs of a porcelain doll. “In exchange for what I ask, I will return your people to you, including the bear and the Valkyrie. I will even allow you to keep the skinwalkers you have claimed. Once I have what I want, you will be free to do as you wish. Although it is my hope that you will see a benefit in us working together moving forward. I believe there is much we might accomplish,” he said, waving a hand at his fallen men.
Moscow Mule: Phantom Queen Book 5 - A Temple Verse Series (The Phantom Queen Diaries) Page 6
