by Alma Boykin
Ok, he gulped, that’s just scary right there. And a waste of wood, too. Man, the sausages and ‘smores you could make with that bonfire. And at least one decent-sized log cabin, given the girth of some of the trees in the pile. There seemed to be no pattern, just a mound of wasted trees. Alexi frowned and made several notes, including walking (carefully) around the pile to get a sense of the size. When he finished, he found another dude-in-a-suit, this one without mirror shades, waiting for him.
“May I see some identification, sir?”
Alexi handed him the badge for C. Zolnerovich, along with one of Catherine’s old business cards, again with only her first initial on them. She’d decided that she wouldn’t complain about her full name not being on there, since they’d finally spelled her last name correctly. Alexi had made a smart ass comment about being glad she hadn’t married an Indian or a Greek. He’d spent the night on the couch as a result. Catherine Mary had a few very sensitive spots, and he’d hit one of them smack in the middle with a depleted uranium round.
The guard returned the badge and disappeared. Alexi shrugged and finished his perimeter study, logging four more cameras, the wire inside the wall, and that whoever had done the finish work had cheated the owner, because the stucco was already falling off in chunks, revealing brick with bad mortar. And this is why we supervise contractors so closely, class, Alexi snorted. Especially the US government’s lowest bidder. He stopped at the edge of the forest where the native plants gave way to a lawn and pale gravel driveway-like expanse, making additional notes about the problems he’d observed and which were the priority for fixing.
The guy-with-no-shades returned, followed by someone built like Alexi but taller. Alexi was impressed. The man’s shoulder carry rig under his jacket did not impress, and Alexi wondered if he knew that that holster had been recalled because of defective release mechanisms. Not that Alexi was going to acknowledge that he’d seen anything. “Good morning, Mr. Zolnerovich. I understand there is a problem?” He spoke British English with a faint Byelorussian accent.
“Yes, sir. Are you the property owner or manager?”
The man hesitated, then said, “Property manager, yes.”
“One of the requirements for getting a permit and easements to build in locations such as this is maintaining a fire-safe perimeter. That has not been done, and the property owner is in violation of county fire protection requirements, and forest service regulations related to the easement. And there are enough fuels close enough to the structure that the local fire fighters will probably not be able to defend the property in case of a fire.” Alexi kept all trace of Russian out of his accent, leaning pure, flat Kansas-Midwestern.
The big man frowned. “You say if there is a fire, no one will protect the house?”
“They may try, but the flames will probably overtop your wall easily, and the winds will carry burning debris into your yard. Do you have anything with a wooden roof, like a garden pavilion? It will be in danger.”
The big man flinched. “I believe you need to speak with the owner about this, sir. If you will follow me.” He did not ask, Alexi noted, nor did he look back to see if Alexi was following.
The building did not sprawl as much as the picture showed, but it still rambled a great deal. Alexi wrinkled his nose at the fountain in the front yard and wondered where the water came from, and made a note to tell Catherine Mary. If the guy was pulling water without permits, ouch, the fines. Colorado was a touch possessive about its streams. The grass seemed quite lush for early fall, even this high up. Ahead of the trio, one half of a very ornate carved wood and iron door opened silently. It had to be three meters tall, and at least two inches thick, Alexi noticed as he walked through. He took off his forest service ball cap and wiped his boots carefully on the mud rug. Sweet St. Olga, I’ve walked into the tsar’s chambers in the Kremlin, or into a fairy tale, Alexi gasped to himself. Aloud he said, “Lovely woodwork.”
“This way, sir.” Alexi looked around as he followed the butler, or so Alexi decided to think of him, down the hall to the left, and down another hall. Dark wood paneling made the place feel snug despite the stone-like floors and white and red tiles and paintings on the curved ceiling. Painted wooden benches stood along the walls, and incredible paintings and icons and other treasures of Slavic and other European art hung in tasteful arrangements where they could be admired easily. The display did not make Alexi feel any better about the house’s owner. Neither did the dust and dirt in the corners, the signs of sloppy housekeeping. The house spirit must be mad, he thought with a little grin. The grin faded. Domovoy would not stay in the presence of evil or malign intent.
A tall woman appeared in the corridor ahead of them and it took a lot of Alexi’s will not to stare at her. She wore her long blond hair up in the traditional crown of braids. Her pale blue dress had a vague resemblance to the old Russian overdress out of the children’s books, but cut to reveal a most impressive superstructure. She had black eyes, pink cheeks, red lips and Alexi warned himself not to drool. Ivan shifted position and the movement in the backpack helped distract Alexi, pulling his mind back above his belt. Her cold, arrogant look also helped. He’d seen it all too often when he was on maneuvers, or encountered some VIP’s escort in the Sandbox. He was scruffy, dirty, probably uncouth, had no education, would not keep his boots off the furniture, and no doubt used the wrong fork. That thought eliminated about eighty percent of the desire that had swept over him. She asked the butler a question, and he replied with a negative. She nodded and disappeared into a room to the right. The butler tapped on a door to the left, bowed as he opened it, and said in English, “Master Waldenfeind, Ranger Zolnerovich from the forest service. It seems the garden has a fire problem.”
“Indeed? Send him in,” a rich voice with dark, dangerous undertones called.
“Thank you,” Alexi told the butler, then entered the room.
Holy cats, I found Tsar Ivan Grozny’s office, Alexi thought. Or the Hermitage Museum had a brown-bag sale in conjunction with the Monastery of the Annunciation. He’d never seen so much Slavic stuff, very expensive and high quality stuff. Something in a bird cage under a cover rustled and Alexi caught a hint of light. He ignored it, instead watching the old man behind the desk. “A problem with fire in the garden, Mister Zolnerovich?”
“With fire reaching your garden, sir. You are aware that this area is considered to be a critical fire danger because of the drought and the high fuel load?”
The dark, rich voice replied, “I had heard something to that effect, yes.”
Alexi opened his notebook. “According to the development permits, property owners in this area are required to keep at least ten meters around all structures clear of brush and combustible debris. County fire codes also require the removal of dead trees from at least thirty meters of the closest structure. Your outside wall is a structure per county code, and there is a very large fire load, dead trees, dry brush and plants sir, that come within less than a meter of your wall.”
“But nothing can cross the wall. It is solid.” The grey-haired man sounded faintly annoyed.
“Well, sir, it can blow over the top of the wall. Are you familiar with pyrocumulus storms and fire-nadoes? The rising air from a major fire can carry burning debris ten meters and more into the air for as much as a half kilometer. Any pavilions or other burnables inside the wall are at risk. And with so many dead trees so close to the structure, the fire department will have a great deal of trouble trying to protect the property.”
Mr. Waldfeind frowned. “You are certain of this?”
“Yes, sir. County code,” Alexi rattled off a number, hoping he was close, “states that fire fighters do not have a duty to protect when property owners allow fuel too close to structures within the area designated as forest, and your home is well within that area.”
Indeed, he heard the click of a keyboard as the man looked up the information for himself. Alexi admired the icons, and blinked as he recognized the sa
movar in the corner. Someone else did too, and he heard a little hiss from the daypack. Waldfeind hissed as well. “It appears you are correct.” He turned back to face Alexi, and stood. If a mountain got to its feet, that’s what it would look like, Alexi gulped. Damn, but he was big, very big, and wore a grey suit that matched his hair. He had half-open, cold black eyes and his old-man’s face did not entirely match the body attached to it. A gold watch chain hung with what looked like Fabarge egg miniatures hung across the front of the coat, and rings flashed on every age-crooked finger. The sheer excess reminded Alexi of the commercial with the oligarch one of the credit card companies had run, and he bit his tongue to keep from laughing. “Come, show me the exact problem.”
Waldfeind led Alexi out a back door and into a lush garden straight out of a fairy tale book, with enormous roses and a bush of blue and pink flowers as big as Alexi’s head, tulips blooming along with orange and lemon trees, all out of season, and the powerful scent of carnations under it all. “Excuse me,” Alexi crouched to re-tie his boot. As he did, Ivan flowed out of the bag and under a bush. Alexi tightened the lace and swung the bag around, retrieving the fuels notebook. Waldfeind struck Alexi as the kind who needed numbers. Waldfeind beckoned and led Alexi onto a platform built onto an ornate garden pavilion. Something within the pavilion shimmered, a bit like a summer heat shimmer, making Alexi even more nervous, and he looked away. From the platform the two could see over the wall into the forest to the west, and the city to the east. “Show me.”
Alexi used his notes and the fuels guide and did so. After fifteen minutes, the oligarch sighed. “You are correct. I must confess, I am not familiar with this sort of forest, and what ‘fuel load’ implied.”
“German forestry is quite different, yes, sir,” Alexi said, pretending to guess wrong.
Waldfeind’s dark eyes snapped a little as he looked Alexi over, then drooped partly closed again. “Indeed, it is. Come. Let us discuss what steps must be taken to prevent trouble.”
“Certainly sir.” A dark, four-footed mall ninja skulked from bush to flowerbed behind them as they returned to the house. Alexi wondered what Waldfeind’s gardener would make of any deposits Ivan left. And how to find Babushka, if she was here.
The door closed behind them and Alexi felt something else close as well. The butler and one of the guards stepped in behind Alexi, and Waldfeind stopped, turning to face him, playing with one of the eggs on his watch chain. “So, what is a son of the forest, one who reeks of Church, doing prowling around my house, hmm?”
“Enforcing regulations, sir.” Alexi pretended that he did not notice the two men behind him, even though his skin crawled and part of his brain was screaming for him to take defensive action.
“On a weekend with a legal holiday when the banks are closed? I do not believe you.”
Alexi shrugged. “You have seen my notes, sir. And fire season does not believe in holidays, federal, religious, or otherwise.”
The butler spoke. “C. Zolnerovich is Catherine, according to the Internet.”
“My sister-in-law, yes. I’m Charles. We’re both fire-science specialists.” Waldfeind loomed larger, seeming to expand as the hallway grew dark. Alexi remembered watching the Black God riding storms and gulped a little as he bluffed. “You don’t have to like what I report, sir, you just need to clear your property of flammable materials. Or hire a contractor to haul things away, it’s your option. If not, your insurance company won’t cover your losses, and the county will—”
Waldfeind reached down and picked Alexi up by his shirt and the backpack straps, lifting his mass high enough that his boots didn’t touch the ground. “You are here for something else. I smell Church on you, Church and magic.” The creature pulled Alexi closer and sniffed, then bared large, sharp teeth not unlike Baba Yaga’s. “But there is sufficient meat on your bones to make a meal of at least.”
Alexi had time to start to inhale before Kashey Waldfeind, or Koschai the Deathless, tossed him over his shoulder as easily as tossing a paper wad. Alexi curled up, tucking his head down to his chest before he hit the side of the hallway with a thump that knocked the wind out of him. The books and jacket in the backpack helped cushion the blow, but he saw stars and couldn’t get his breath. As he blinked, trying to stay oriented, he saw motion out of the corner of his eye. It looked like a black lump dragging something metallic and wooden across the dirty floor. Oh great, Alexi groaned, probably that nasty house spirit, a kikimora, stealing my car keys. A pair of very nice tooled red leather boots under grey trousers strolled into his view, and Alexi looked up in time to see Koschai leaning down to grab him. Alexi managed to roll away.
“Hey, I’m happy to leave, sir, no need to get angry with me.”
Koschai bared his teeth again, showing the points. “I am not angry. I am hungry.”
Alexi scrambled back, crab-like, trying to recover enough to remember how he could fight Koschai. Nothing came to mind: strength alone had never defeated the spirit, and he didn’t have any firearms with him, dang it. He needed to find Koschai’s heart, but had no one to ask and no clue as to what to do. Most Holy Lord, I fall upon my knees and beg for Your mercy for those sins which I have committed, blessed St. George, St. Nikeas the Goth, protector of warriors, pray for me, Alexi recited. He reached inside his collar just as Koschai grabbed him, the enchanter’s fingers now twisted and clawed.
“Awk!” Plop, plop something hit Alexi’s head. Aw man, he groaned as he tried to fight loose from the enchanter’s grip. Koschai the Deathless is about to eat me and the firebird poops on my head. I’ve had enough of this kazai! He strained and pulled one leg up high enough to grab his hunting knife, pulling it out of the sheath. The knife had a second small blade along the pommel and he pulled that loose as well, stabbing Koschai with the silver-coated blade.
“Ow!” Koschai dropped Alexi, who landed on his feet and took off running. He heard the enchanter pounding along after him and realized that this was not going to end well. Crap, I need to trick him, or cripple him. Something about he’s not as powerful here, but— Yipe!
A fireball shot over Alexi’s head and splattered on the paneling at the end of the hall. He’d cornered himself. Alexi turned around and dropped into a fighting crouch, knives in hand. Lord, if you could turn one of these into a shotgun like You turned water into wine, I’d be very grateful.
“Awk!” The firebird swished past his head, forcing him to duck its claws. He looked up to see it harassing Koschai, whose darkness now filled to hallway. Blackness seemed to flow around him, and Alexi could well believe that Koschai was the oldest son of Chernobog. “Awk!” The glittering bird dove at Alexi. He dropped to the floor and caught sight of a familiar someone in a bright green velour track suit and yellow kerchief on the other side of the enchanter, struggling with one of Koschai’s minions.
“Oh hell no you don’t!” Alexi launched forward, ducked around Koschai, and drove his hunting knife into the guard’s back. The man screamed, staggered, and disappeared in a twist of noxious black smoke. The butler reached into his jacket as Alexi grabbed Babushka and spun her behind him.
Bang!
“Aii my leg!” the butler screamed in Russian, collapsing, blood pouring out of his thigh. Alexi allowed himself a nasty smile. That’s why there’s been a recall on that holster, bastard, he thought, then started pulling Babushka down the hall toward the back door.
“Take my keys, truck’s down the road,” and he pushed the ring into her hand.
“Nyet. Must grab firebird and sister. Where Ivan?”
“Babushka, don’t argue, go.” Koschai had managed to turn around, booted his servant out of the way and was bearing down on them, black fire forming around his hands.
“Not without firebird! Made promise.”
And no one said no to Babushka. Alexi wondered how he was going to explain this one to St. Peter, and to his grandfather’s ghost. And if Catherine Mary would kill him a second time for dying and leaving her with the kids. “Fi
ne, go, I distract enchanter.”
“You are one of mine!” Koschai roared, making the air shake and Alexi’s ears burn. “You are from my land, and you are mine, body and soul.”
“Sorry, Uncle Sam has first dibs on me.”
Koschai paused, trying to make sense of the statement. As he did, something small, furry, and determined slammed into Alexi’s waist. He grabbed Ivan without thinking, and Ivan spat the metal and wood keys into his hand. The cat scrambled up onto Alexi’s shoulder and sank his claws into the backpack’s strap.
“What do I do?”
“Mreh!”
That didn’t help. “Left?”
“Mro.”
“Right?”
“Mreh! Mreh!” Ivan bounced a little.
Alexi ducked right, skittered back down the hall away from Koschai, and unlocked the first door. A wave of heat flowed out and Alexi retreated even faster, the firebird swooping and zooming toward where Alexi thought the entry had been. Babushka, also retreating, stopped. “Other door!” She called.
Now you tell me. Alexi did as ordered. This time the woman in blue emerged, looked around, hiked her skirt and headed after the firebird. Boobs and brains and I’m already married. Damn. Alexi ducked a tongue of flame, and something called, clear and hot, like the desert wind. He risked looking up and saw Koschai take a step backward as a raptor beat the enchanter with its wings.
