by Unknown
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.
Chapter 21
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.
Billi took off her robe and stood, arms raised, at the head of the pool. She watched her reflection quiver on the water's surface for a second, then dived in.
The cold stunned Billi, and her chest clenched as she sliced through the dull blueness of the pool. The lights were large circular plates, their frames bonded stainless steel. Billi's eyes adjusted swiftly to the hazy underwater world, and she was surprised by the water's clarity. She thrust herself deeper and skimmed across the white-tiled floor. Then, with a kick, she rose and started attacking the water with long, chopping strokes.
What was she doing here? She had three days to save Vasilisa. She hated the idea of relying on others, but the Bogatyrs were the experts on the Polenitsy. Her hands cut into the water as she pumped her legs, letting frustration fuel her strokes. The far wall was approaching, so Billi dropped her head and turned underwater, sensing the distance before she pushed off again.
A loud splash made Billi stop a quarter way along the pool's length.
Someone was coming up, fast. Muscular arms drove a long, torpedo-swift body through the cold water. Billi kicked off again, aiming at the far wall, some twenty-five yards away. The first few strokes lacked rhythm, but soon she was steaming. But no matter how quick she was, the guy behind her was catching up. Suddenly he was at her shoulder, and she could see the wall a few yards away. She pounded harder, but he was too strong. His big arms pulled him forward, and Billi felt herself caught in his wake. Then Ivan slapped his palms on the wall and stopped.
Billi bobbed up behind him.
He hung on to the brass railings running just above the water's surface. His hair was loose, and the dappled light lit the sharp angles of his face.
"I'm not disturbing you, am I?" he asked.
Billi said nothing. He'd easily outswum her and she didn't like it. Maybe he was pissed off at her for saving his life and just wanted to boost his ego.
Ivan slid along the railing toward her. He was a few inches away. The ripples splashed against Billi, and she tried to retreat.
"You have many scars," he said.
"Not that many." Well, not compared to the other Templars.
"This one?" Ivan's gaze lingered on Billi's neck.
"Sword cut." Her hand went to the scar Michael had given her. "It could have been worse."
Ivan smiled. Billi paddled back a bit more. It was hotter in here than she'd thought. "You have an interesting face, SanGreal. Not quite beautiful." He lifted his hand as if to touch exactly where he'd been gazing.
Billi quickly wiped her hair from her face. "Is that meant to be a compliment?"
"An observation." He splashed back into the water, not more than a yard. "Koshchey says you're here looking for a Spring Child."
"Yes, she was kidnapped by the Polenitsy."
Ivan was trying to find out more. She could feel the pressure of his questions— nothing direct, but the guy just got under her skin. She found it hard to think clearly with him around. But she'd let her guard down before—with Michael—and look what had happened. She had to take a more objective view, follow Gwaine's lead. She must be careful to tell him only what was necessary.
She kept her eyes down, but couldn't help seeing his reflection wavering in the water. The pale blue under-water lights cast rippling shadows over his athletic body. She remembered Michael, built of marble and nothing but hard surfaces and edges. Ivan wasn't anything like that. He wasn't chunky like a warrior—more like a dancer, graceful. But he and Michael were similar. Both had that mixture of pain and threat, of beauty masking the anger beneath. That's why she had to be careful. She needed to get his attention off of her.
"I'm sorry about your father," she said.
Ivan's lips thinned. Though he tried to hide it, the pain was obvious. "He was a great man. A great leader."
"And Koshchey? What's he like?"
"He is adequate. No, that is not fair. He has done well. He has made Moscow safe from the blood-drinkers and other vrolock. A few, like the one last night, escape the net, but not for long. He acts as regent until I reach my majority.
"Can I trust you, Billi SanGreal?" Instead of waiting for an answer, he decided for himself with a frown. "The Bogatyrs are not the men they were," said Ivan. "Once they were noblemen who knew that their duty was to serve Russia." He gazed into Billi's eyes, moving closer and lowering his voice to a whisper. "Now they serve only themselves. Many are Russian mafia, recruited by Koshchey after my father's death. They are good fighters, but they are not... good men. That will change when I am their master."
"You think Koshchey will allow you to take charge?" Billi was doubtful. Based on what she'd seen of him, Koshchey didn't look like the kind of guy who'd just roll over when Ivan came of age.
Ivan bit his lip; he obviously thought the same. "I have a legacy to uphold, Billi. Do you understand that?"
"Tsarevich!"
The word echoed loudly off the curving walls and undulating water. Ivan's bodyguard, Dimitri, stood by the door, all tooled up in his combat gear.
Ivan looked once at Billi, then reached up and drew himself out of the water with a single, smooth pull. Rivulets of water ran off his skin and through the chasms of his muscular back. He took a deep breath, his chest rising then sinking, as he turned to face her. Then he bent down and held out his hand. Billi took it, and he pulled her out effortlessly. "Yes?" asked Ivan as he began drying himself. Dimitri whispered in his ear. Ivan stopped. He turned to Dimitri, his brow furrowed.
"Are you sure?" Billi's heartbeat quickened. Ivan handed her a towel.
Billi's hand shook as she took it. "Koshchey has found your friend Vasilisa," he said.
Chapter 22
TEN MINUTES LATER BILLI CAME RUNNING DOWN the stairs into the main lobby. She'd whipped on her and a black T-shirt, but her boots hadn't been laced yet. She'd banged on Elaine's door and left her to get Gwaine and
Lance.
Sixteen men had gathered under the huge crystal chandeliers that lit the marble-clad lobby. All wore body armor and carried guns. One man shook out a box of cartridges onto the top of a grand piano, and one by one loaded them into his shotgun.
Koshchey leaned over a set of floor plans. Unlike the rest, he wore a smart suit—a red rose tucked into the buttonhole.
"You've found her?" said Billi. She pushed her way through the men to Koshchey. He nodded to one of his guys, who made space for her at the table.
"Some tea for Lady SanGreal," he ordered. The Bogatyr beside him went over to the china samovar standing at the end of the long table. The tall vaselike container was, like everything in the Ministry, a beautiful work of art, the china painted with weaving vines and bursting red flowers. The Bogatyr turned the dainty gold tap and filled a small cup.
"You've found Vasilisa?" Billi demanded. If it was true, then Vasilisa could be safe in their hands within hours. They'd have her on a plane to Jerusalem by the end of the day.
"My men report that a girl matching the description of the Spring Child has been seen in this apartment block. It is known to be occupied by the Polenitsy." He handed over a blown-up photo.
It wasn't clear, but a young girl with untidy blond hair stood at a half-frosted window. Snow blurred the lens, so the photo must have been taken from some distance. The girl had turned her head, obscuring her face, but it had to be Vasilisa. It had to be. Billi stared at the photo as if the girl might suddenly turn around and look back at her. Oh God, she was here, in Moscow.
"Then we'd better get her. Now."
Koshchey's fist tightened. "This is a delicate operation, Lady SanGreal. I think it best you let my men handle it."
Ivan stood at the top of the stairs. "Koshchey!" he shouted. "Why did you not inform me of this?"
The prince wore his own combat armor and had his utility belt slung over his shoulder. He marched up to them and dropped the belt onto the table, banging the wooden surface hard with the holstered pistol.
For a second a blaze of rage crossed Koshchey's face. Only Billi saw it, but his face went livid red. Then he puffed out his cheeks and rotated on his heels to face the prince.
"My prince, I did not want to disturb you. Especially after last night's unfortunate incident. It was only through the intervention of young SanGreal that you were not killed." He put his hand on his heart. "I swore to your father that I would protect you. Leave this to me. You should wait here, where it is safe."
That is so much bullshit. Billi kept her thoughts to herself, but Koshchey couldn't have been more patronizing. Everything he said was intended to undermine Ivan.
Ivan's jaw went rigid. He buckled on his belt, and his hand rested on the pistol a moment longer than necessary. Billi noticed and so did Koshchey.
"Thank you for your concern, Koshchey." Ivan stared at one of the men, and he stepped away from the table. "But I can decide what is best for me."
Ouch.
The rivalry between them bubbled just below the surface, but Billi could see that it would erupt, sooner rather than later.
"Tsarevich, until you are a man, upon your father's wishes, I am afraid it is my duty to lead. But by all means come, look."
Ivan missed the cold contempt in the response; his attention was on what was in front of him, the floor plans of a block of flats. Koshchey stood behind him.
That's where Ivan should be keeping his attention. On his back.
"A Khrushchev block?" asked Ivan.
"What's that?" Billi peered at the drawings. The yellowed paper was held together with tape. The floor plans showed a five-story building with four separate staircases. Four apartments ran off the landings on each floor. Each apartment was identical to the next.
Ivan drew his finger along the outline of the building. "They were built in the sixties. There are thousands of them all over Moscow, all built exactly the same way."
Gwaine and Lance appeared.
Without a word they came up and joined them.
Ivan stood up and looked around. "Four teams. Four men per team."
Koshchey tapped the staircases on the drawings. "One team per staircase. We will sweep up the building and clear each floor." He looked up at the clock— just after seven. "The sun will be up in an hour."
Ivan nodded. "And you, Koshchey?"
He laughed. "Tsarevich, can you see me creeping up those steps? I doubt I could fit through the front door. Andrei will lead the attack."
Ivan turned to the Templars. "There are three of you. I suggest that you each go with a different squad. You know what this girl looks like."
"Fair enough."
"Tsarevich, that is not wise." Koshchey put his hands on the drawings as he leaned over toward Ivan. "The Bogatyrs are trained for this—the Templars are not. They could get in the way."
How dare he? What the Templars didn't know about fighting the Unholy wasn't worth knowing. Billi was about to tell him exactly that when she caught a warning glare from Gwaine, so she shut her mouth. No point starting an argument with their allies.
Ivan paused, tapping the handle of his pistol. "Then perhaps it would be best if you remained behind. Mistakes can happen."
Billi shook her head. "Forget it. We're coming."
"Billi, this will be dangerous."
"Damn right. All the more reason I come and watch your back."
"Fine. Just stay out of the way. Understood?"
"Understood, Tsarevich."
Ivan opened his mouth to reply, well aware of Billi's not-quite-respectful tone, but he let it pass.
Koshchey tapped his watch. "We leave in ten minutes."
Lance handed Billi her armor. The Kevlar jacket went on like a waistcoat and zipped up high. The collar covered her to her chin, but was wide enough to allow Billi to turn her head. The jacket had been modified to hold Billi's katar and kukri; each sat comfortably when strapped in. Then Lance grinned as he showed Billi a slim-bladed straight-sword, similar in length to Percy's wakizashi. This he slid into a sheath clipped to her back.
Billi promised herself an outfit just like this for her next birthday.
Gwaine came over. "Leave the rough stuff to the Russians. If they're right and this place is crawling with Polenitsy, they won't give Vasilisa up without a fight. Not that I'm complaining."
"We get her alive, understand?" said Billi. This was their chance, and she wanted everyone to be of the same mind. Vasilisa could be saved.
"I don't need you to tell me my job, squire," was Gwaine's reply.
Billi glanced at Lance, who nodded. "We save the petite fille."
They were set.
"Where's Elaine?" Billi asked.
Lance gestured upstairs. "Koshchey showed her the Bogatyrs' library. It is like she's gone to researcher heaven. Maybe she might find something on Baba Yaga, oui?"
As Lance and Gwaine discussed tactics, Billi went into the corner of the lobby and took out her mobile.
"Dad. You there?"
The line crackled, but then she heard her father's familiar voice.
"Billi?"
"Dad? We found her." She couldn't keep the excitement from her voice. "You sure? How?"
"The Bogatyrs found her. She's being held not far from here by the Polenitsy. We're heading over there right now."
"I don't need to tell you to be careful, do I?"
Billi looked around at the soldiers armed to the teeth. There was enough firepower here to conquer a small country. "I think we've got that covered."
"Praise be to God," said Arthur. "We've drawn a blank here."
"Did you find Vasilisa's granny?"
"She's gone into hiding. I suspect the Polenitsy have come for her. We're still looking, but Karelia's a big place. But we've picked up some interesting legends about Baba Yaga."
"Like what?" Billi's attention was pricked.
"Baba Yaga vanished a hundred years ago. There were no more hunts for Spring Children—the werewolves just stopped. The
local wise women say that's because Baba Yaga was hurt in the early twentieth century, and went to sleep deep in the earth to recover. Now she's back and she's hungry. That's why the Polenitsy have returned."
"How was she injured?"
"Wish I knew." Arthur coughed. "You just get Vasilisa to Jerusalem."
"Bilqis." Lance came up. "They are waiting."
"Dad... "
"I heard." Arthur's tone deepened. "Give them hell."
"Come," Ivan said to Billi as they stepped out of the elevator into the parking garage. "You will stick close to me, Dimitri, and Yuri." Another Bogatyr fell into step with them. Two beady black eyes glistened from beneath a thick, bushy eyebrow that ran straight across from ear to ear. Tattoos covered his arms, neck, and ears. His tattoos had tattoos.
"Pleased to meet you," said Billi.
Yuri smiled, exposing a fortune in gold teeth.
A silver BMW growled as it crept along the snow-covered drive, leading a line of big shiny four-by-fours. Billi and Ivan took this car, with Yuri up front with Dimitri. Lance and Gwaine took the next.
The car slipped out onto a main road. Snow trucks rolled along to the road, but otherwise the traffic was pretty light. Billi settled herself into the soft leather seat.
"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."
